


Touchdown

by churb



Category: Pinky and the Brain
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, HAPPY YEARIVERSARY BITCHES!!!!!!! I'M BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Unethical Experimentation, actually a rewrite of a thing i did back in 2014 but??? who the fuck cares tho, set after "fly" because that episode was fucked up and fucked me up, there we go those are my tws everyone go home
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 21:47:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8684647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/churb/pseuds/churb
Summary: A sequel to S1E15- "Fly". As implied, they land.
It's not pretty.





	1. Protocol

**Author's Note:**

> idk i saw that it had been a year since i last posted and i thought i'd do something for the occasion nvn

The most improbable thing about this whole ridiculous charade, in your own personal opinion, was that somehow, you'd done it.

You'd actually done it.

And the chance that you would have actually gotten out alive was fairly small, if you had to evaluate it - but you'd actually succeeded. No wonder you were so proficient that time you got stuck in the jungle. Not that it didn't take a hell of a long time, of course - it was Russia. Hardly _close_. (And you had to be pretty smart in your methods of travel, because one freaked out air hostess and the both of you were, quite literally, dead.) But after... three? (you think it was three) years of being chained up and poked and prodded and god knows what else, you were quite content with cuddling up in the overhead luggage holder for a few hours. You just went to sleep.

And _boy_ , did you sleep.

Once safely back in California, it was just a case of, however possible, hitching rides in various vehicles. People generally didn't notice when you climbed into their cars (being small as you were), and for the most part you were ignored. Then it was just a short walk and hey presto. You were back at the lab in a surprisingly short space of time, considering. And, amazingly enough, you didn't feel too bad. By now, it's become somewhat apparent that whatever genetic experimenting you underwent has made you, to a certain degree, impervious to damage. You're still affected, of course, but not as much as you should be. Or maybe you're just not paying attention to your own injuries? You're _preoccupied_. And you do that a lot anyway.

Anyway, point is, you're not too banged up, in the great scheme of things.

You can't say the same for your... _associate_ , unfortunately. However much you've been injured, physically, emotionally, or otherwise, you can honestly say that it doesn't hold a candle to how Brain probably feels. (You personally decide that, with all things considered, you're not sure why anyone would want to hold a candle to him, or, indeed, his feelings. Burn injuries are the last thing he needs right now. In fact, you both actually have those, thinking about it, so he certainly doesn't need any more!

(Poit.) (You're not funny, but you can't say it's not a  _great_ coping mechanism.)

During your flight, he didn't really speak. That you know of, anyway; you were asleep for most of it. He mostly just curled up against some random woman's suitcase and stayed completely quiet - which, you're not going to lie, worries you. He's not usually a quiet person, really - if you think about it, the majority of your relationship (whatever relationship you have) seems to be him talking. (And then you talk! And then he hits you with a pencil. Oh, the good old days.) (Narf.)

(You'd give anything to have him hit you with a pencil now.)

That's not the point though.

What is the point (poit! Haha.) is that now, after your journey back, however long that took, with all the hitching rides in assorted vehicles and other travelly doohickies, you're home. And only a little bit traumatised. But that's okay! You can look after yourself. You suppose you always were the carer in your relationship.

(Whatever relationship you have.)

You've had Brain tucked under your arm for the latter parts of your journey. (Not literally. He's not that short, firstly, and that would also be a little impractical (not that you haven't done it before) but you digress. He's more leant against you a bit.) He'd been a bit wobbly throughout all of it, but by the state border he didn't look like he could even stand for much longer, so you kind of hooked an arm around him and half dragged half carried half supported him (fractions are not your strong point) from then to here. You'd be perfectly willing to carry him full stop! It wouldn't be the first time. You just thought you might save him some dignity. That and he might well have slapped you.

If he, well. Could.

Well, he probably physically could, you're just not sure he would have thought of that. He barely responded to you at all throughout your journey, to the point where you vaguely wonder if he's seeing you at all.

But again, that's okay! He'll be back to normal soon. You're just going to look out for him until then.

Everything will be back to normal soon.

You hope.

\- * -

The first thing you did when you got back to the lab was sleep some more.

Maybe that sounds stupid, but it's not like you got much sleep back in Russia. You didn't go for very long periods of time without being prodded with something. Again, you're lucky you're so unsusceptible to damage. You could have suffered a lot, lot worse.

But then again, you guess, relatively, you didn't really get the painful end of experimentation. Maybe you should feel bad about that. 

When you get there, you give Brain a little nudge and tell him in the friendliest tone you can manage that look, you're home now. He doesn't respond to that either, so you take this as your cue to drag him inside with the full intent of getting him into bed.

(No, not like that. Not really the time. You inwardly curse your low attention span.)

Luckily, you share a bed, so after you eventually get back to your cage you can sort of just flop over, and you stay flopped for a good ten minutes until you snap yourself out of your trance just enough to sit yourself up and see if Brain's okay because he's still not talking to you.

He's moved; he's sat on the corner of your bed, just sort of staring into space... You think. You're not entirely sure where he's looking, because you're looking at him from the back, but you assume he's staring into space because the TV isn't on, so you reach out and sort of tug him over to the pillow.

"Aren't you, um. Going to sleep?"

He doesn't respond, but he does move to get in to said bed, pulling the blankets up over himself with the same eerie wordlessness he was previously exhibiting.

Goodnight, then.

You say this to him, pulling the covers up over yourself too, and he still doesn't respond, so you leave it. You cuddle up to him, though, and usually, you don't do that. Or didn't? Your memories of here are kind of fuzzy, especially now, but you don't remember cuddling up to him much. It was _platonic_ bed sharing. Duh.

_Duh._

 


	2. Transmission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had to split it into two lol sorry

So you're awake now, and nursing a killer headache, but you remind yourself that you have shit to do, god damn it, so you go and drink some water and try to forget your own troubles because, like you've mentioned, Brain probably feels a billion times wo

he's not in bed oh god fucking hell

It takes a moment of frantically looking around before you spot him hidden next to a box (you try to remember what said box is for and fail miserably) sketching something. You potter over to him and cross your arms - you're not angry with him, but you're starting to feel a little uncomfortable with your arms hanging there doing nothing and this is the easiest way to rest them.

You take a moment to collect your words. "...Are you feeling any better?"

It feels like about three hours before he responds.

"I'm fine."

He speaks. Halle _fucking_ lujah. You take a moment to consider the thing about the word being the sole infix in the English language, and then decide that such is really,  _really_ not relevant.

"Um." Why do you always sound so hesitant, even when you're trying to be assertive? "I wouldn't call you _fine_ , considering. But as long as you're feeling at least a titchy bit better? You weren't really talking much yesterday-"

You trail off and squeak a quiet "troz" under your breath as he swivels to look at you. He doesn't look particularly healthy. Or fine. But neither of you do, and you suppose it's only to be expected. He has a nasty wound of some sort behind his ear (a burn, maybe?) and you privately decide to look at it later.

"I said I'm fine. Could you go and hover somewhere else? I'm working on something."

Well, you know what _something_ is, and the way he says it is completely devoid of the emotion he would usually put into it, he's not even irritated, he just sounds tired, so no, you don't go hover somewhere else. You move closer and give his arm a tug.

"I don't think that's a very good idea, Brain. Why don't we go and sit down?"

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm already sat down."

Sassy as ever.

"Oh, you know what I mean. Please, just go back to bed. You don't have to sleep." How long did he even sleep for? You don't know. Time is not a thing any more.

He doesn't reply, again, and continues scribbling whatever he's scribbling and mumbling about integers.

Okay, fuck it. Dignity aside, you're going to get him in that bed whatever it takes, so you bend down slightly and just full bodied pick him up. You're not fucking around. You can't afford to.

He actually _squeals_. (It's kind of cute, you think. You live for adorable little moments like these.)

"What are you _doing?_ "

You tut. "I was going to ask you the same question."

"I was trying to be  _productive_ , before you had to come and _ruin it_  like the John Schrank to my Theodore Roosevelt." God, he's  _pretentious_. "Unhand me!"

"Brain, I'm sorry." To your credit, you keep calm - and firm. "But this is just crazy, and I can't let you do it." Twelve hours ago he was chained to a fucking _gyroscope_. Or something that looked like a gyroscope. You want to tell him this but you can't think of a nice way to phrase it.

"I was trying to accomplish something." He wriggles. It's simultaneously pathetic and adorable. "Put me _down_."

You comply by very gently lowering him onto your bed. As gently as you can, because you don't want to hurt him, and you even cover him up, too, because the poor thing needs to be warm. He's not warm, right now, he's freezing, and he really should be.

Brain shuffles around to face you and folds his arms. "Why are you insisting on this." he mumbles, and it's monotone, more monotone than usual, and he's obviously trying to call you out but he's too tired for it to work properly. Which you... suppose is a little disconcerting.

"Well, you don't look all that well, so I... thought... maybe you should sit down for a while. I'm just saying. The world can wait." You attempt to smile reassuringly and decide not to mention the fact that the last time he used that line on you, he was putting it off for a date. You briefly think back to Billie and decide that it's probably a good thing that you don't talk to her any more.

Brain does not look convinced. "Can it."

"Well, whatever plan you were drawing up is bound to work just as well next week, isn't it? Rome wasn't built in a day." You pause. "But maybe that's because the Italians were napping all the time." You punctuate this thought with a quiet "Narf", seriously consider the point for a moment, and then drop it when Brain responds.

"...I think you just argued against your own point." There's some sort of sardonic half giggle. It's more like a sharp exhale through his nose. But saltier. "Impressive."

"Oh." You "poit" quietly and take a moment to consider this. "Wait, what point would that be?"

"Never mind." He moves to pull himself off the bed, but you take hold of his shoulders and push him back down.

"Nope." You're getting the hang of this assertive thing, apparently. You try to ignore the anxiety fluttering in your chest and carry on. "You are staying _there_ , mister."

"Or what." He doesn't even _have_ eyebrows, and he's still raising them. How. "I get a time out?"

The back of your mind throws up a completely inappropriate joke, that you almost make and then decide that this is  _really_ not the time.

"There's no need for the attitude, Brain." Your arms end up crossed again, somehow, and the irritated tone of voice takes on a distinct reproachful undertone. "But, I mean. If that involves you staying there, and, you know, not wearing yourself out, then fine. Sulk all you want, really. I just don't want you getting up."

"Oh, right, _well_ , excuse my behaviour. I'll just sit in this corner and consider the error of my ways." Keeping up the thematics of that particular brand of fececiousness, apparently, and with that, he shuffles over to the pillow end of the bed and sits on the corner, crossing his arms and sitting in the most sarcastic way possible. Apparently, sarcastic sitting is a thing. And he is _damn_ good at it.

And, you're not going to lie, you're starting to resent this a little.

(You resent a lot of things, these days.) (Maybe it's best not to dwell on that.)

This is ridiculous. You watch him for a few minutes (five, maybe ten) before you lean over and prod his shoulder.

"Brain."

He doesn't respond. You start to marvel at his resilience. Which would be so much more impressive if he wasn't acting like such a child.

"Please say something."

You lean back, biting at your nails in a vague nervous habit-y sort of way, and eventually he responds. "Oh, my apologies. It's just I'm not allowed to talk during time out."

 _Seriously_. 

You're about to say something when you notice his shoulders shaking.

It looks and sounds like he's laughing, albeit still sarcastically, so you laugh too, and it's great for about forty five seconds before he buries his face in his hands and oh _shit_.

You're not sure when he stopped laughing and started crying, because he was definitely laughing a minute ago (you think?) and you're panicking because while you've seen him cry before, it was only a few tears. You're the hysterical one out of the two of you - you like to think. Brain just sort of leaks for a while before getting on with things.

He's not making any sound again, and that worries you. He's sobbing, but it's totally silent, and after a moment of pondering this (the word having never quite left your vocabulary) you wrap your arms around him and pull him close to your chest.

You're trying.

"Oh, no, Brain, please don't cry. It's alright, I promise you." Fuck, quickly, think. You pat his back a little for good measure. "It's. Um. You're safe! I'm here, and, um. Nobody's going to hurt you. They might stick you in a maze for half an hour but that doesn't really _hurt_ , does it?"

Haha. Narf. You have no idea what you're doing.

Why is he crying this is _wrong_ you're the emotional one that needs guiding around all the time oh _god_. And while you know in your heart that that's not true (not only are you totally independent, but, you know. The jungle incident.) it's just easier to act like it is because, well. It just. Makes things easier.

Or it just makes him feel better about himself. You're not sure.

But you think he's stopped now, though you don't stop your awkward patting until a little while later, and you still haven't let go of him yet - truthfully, you're not sure who's enjoying the contact more, at this point. Call it selfish, maybe - though you suppose it's hardly doing him any _harm_.

"...Are you alright?" You ask, somewhat hesitantly, and eventually he gives a small nod but makes no attempt to move. And that's okay, because you don't move either. You just sort of sit there, and hold him some more, and-- _okay_ , but admittedly you're probably enjoying it moreso because you don't have a cuddly relationship.

Whatever relationship you have.

And when you do finally pull away, you reach out and very gently wipe his face dry with your hand - which would be easier if he wasn't pointedly looking away from you, but that's okay, you understand. You take the blanket from your bed and wrap a small section around his shoulders (you're sitting on it, so you can't pull the whole thing) and give him the most reassuring smile you can manage.

He doesn't look at you.

"What do we do now."

You have to think for a moment here, because usually you're the one asking him what you need to do. And you can't give him any even mildly humorous suggestions, no matter how funfunsillywilly they might be. (You _are_ joking most of the time. Half the things you say aren't even possible. The problem is that Brain doesn't really get your jokes most of the time. You kind of accepted that a long time ago, but there's no harm in trying. Any attempt to lighten the guy up is good in your book. He definitely needs it. Grumpy sod.)

"Well, I don't know." You say, instead. "What do we usually do when we're not taking over the world?"

He cuts over your inevitable "poit" noise.

"Well. Sleep, I suppose. And." He shivers, cuts himself off, and then shuffles around to look at you again.

"Do you think they've forgotten about us?"

You blink. "Who, Brain."

"The. The scientists. We have been missing for a...for an _inordinately_ long time, and. Well. There's a possibility they might have forgotten we exist."

That is a possibility, and it's the most optimistic thing you've thought of in a _very_ long time, so you smile and nod. "Yes, Brain, alright, that sounds reasonable--" And here you falter. "But, um, what does that have to do with... us now?" 

You let the sentence trail off.

"Well, that's the other thing we do. Walk through stupid mazes. And. And get electrocuted." Brain wraps his arms around himself. He looks like he's feeling somewhat nauseous. "...And burnt with...various objects." He continues, in a smaller voice. "Or, you know." A vague hand motion. "Get tied to random appliances. For the fun of it, probably--"

You hug him again because he's panicking and he needs to shut up.

"Shh."

And he slowly, shakily, reaches up to hold you back.

"Right. Yes. Thank you, my friend." He mumbles into your shoulder. "I think I might have gotten a little carried away there."

"It's alright, Brain." And you pause. "If it makes you feel any better, though, I've never been tied to anything I didn't like." Zort. You feel him sigh, against you - but there's an odd tremble, and that was a  _giggle_ , and suddenly you feel a lot better about this. Again, you're not  _funny_ , by any stretch of the imagination - but it might be enough to see you through, for now.

"As I would expect." He mumbles under his breath, and... okay, if he's going to put on the unimpressed voice, you can pretend you don't hear him. (The whole thing with you and what you _personally enjoy_ has been a topic of contention for a while, now, whenever you try to joke about it, and it's not _your_ fault that you didn't actually mind being in Hell too much.)

(Which makes you feel somewhat glad you held your tongue earlier, actually.)

He's less distressed when you pull away this time, and you sit and think for a moment - and god, like you _care_. Taking over the world is hardly at the forefront of your mind, right now. But if there is something you know, it's that a coping mechanism is what he needs, right now, some sense of normality - and it's for  _that_ that you think. Even if you're... substantially lost. 

"I suppose we could always just think up ideas." You suggest, after a while. "And, you know, not act on them yet. I mean, like I said, we can wait."

It's hardly a very inspiring idea but you  _want_ him to feel better about this. That's  _all_ you want. Brain quirks a non-existent eyebrow and you feel like he's not taking you seriously.

"Thank you for the suggestion." He sighs. "I just don't feel very inspired at the moment."

"In that case, you could always try sleeping more." Because guess what, you're not letting this go. He makes an "I--" noise, looks like he's about to argue with you, but decides against it, shakes his head, and sighs.

"Alright, yes. And then I'm sure tomorrow we can get started on another plan, yes?"

"Of course." you say, and your fingers crossed behind your back, as it were, and even if you were  _willing_ to let that happen, you doubt he's going to have the motivation.

(Which you're  _not,_  but you can just solve that tomorrow.)

 


End file.
